Soul Biscuits
by Diaphanous
Summary: AU. Weary from a war that killed so many, ex-soldier Harry Potter left England to stay with his godfather. Meanwhile, in the New York city criminal underworld, two gangster bosses vie for dominance within the shadows.
1. Casting Call

**Soul Biscuits**

Disclaimer: I don't own these fandoms, never will. Poo...

_Warnings: SLASH! Threesomes, violence, blood, gore, 1920s gangsters, secret societies, baked goods; the works, man, the works..._

**Dedicated to Ryder Bellamiren**... darn you for the plunnie that ran with the inch that I gave it to make it into a mile. This will extend into a couple of chapters. Freaking plot, showing up when it wasn't wanted.

000/000

**PART ONE**: _Casting Call_

000/000

The scent of cinnamon triggered an old memory. It was winter but warmth radiated throughout a small kitchen in a small village within the English countryside. There, on a wire cooling rack, was a dozen of his mother's cinnamon biscuits with shining sugar crystals decorating them. Another dozen were baking in the oven. And his mother, so beautiful with her coppery red curls and glittering green eyes, was mixing up a batch of chocolate chip biscuits as the next flavor.

But then the memory faded away. Harry James Potter blinked in surprise when he found himself standing before a small bakery in the bustling city of New York. He gazed up at the sign that proclaimed the shop's name, Mark's Bake 'N Taste. The ex-soldier snorted and continued on his way down the crowded sidewalk. He kept his black newspaper boy hat down low on his brow which cast his own poison green eyes into shadow and hid his tousled black curls. Harry exhaled softly and his breath condensed into a cloud of white before his thin lips in the cold spring air.

It was the year nineteen twenty-four and Harry had just arrived at New York City from his native country's capital of London. The reminders from the Great War had become too much for the former sergeant and so he had left behind all that he had known for a world beyond the Atlantic Ocean. His cousin and godfather, Sirius Black, had invited him to stay in his home in the so-called Big Apple for a new start in life. The older man had moved to America at the turn of the century and was now opening his home to his only godson.

A dream then took shape in young Harry's mind; an American dream that would take root in this land of milk and honey. He had gathered all of his mother's baked recipes along with his grandmother's and great-grandmother's and compiled them into several hand-bound books. He would open up a shop much better than the one he had just passed.

It would be Harry's shop that would draw in customers by the scent of cinnamon biscuits...

000/000

Blood dripped down from the tip of the dagger gripped in the broad, long-fingered hand of mafia boss, Ezio Auditore. His cold, golden gaze stared down upon the body of his former rival, Cesare Borgia. With a disdainful sniff, the only surviving son of Giovanni Auditore calmly handed his dagger over to his right-hand man, Niccolò Machiavelli. Ezio then carefully walked around the growing puddle of blood. He wiped his bloodied fingertips clean with a snowy white handkerchief. He then threw it onto the floor.

"Clean this up, won't you Nicco?" Ezio called over his shoulder as he strode out of the door.

"Sì, maestro," Machiavelli answered smoothly. He flicked his fingers in the direction of Cesare's cooling corpse. "Bury him in concrete." With that simple command, several minions dragged the body away, leaving behind a wide streak of blood. Niccolò frowned at the sight. "You!" Another set of minions quickly stood at attention. "Clean up the blood. You know how much the maestro hates bloodstains on the floors of his 'visitor' rooms."

000/000

Deep in the shadows, Kadar Al-Sayf watched with grim blue eyes as Auditore's men dumped Borgia's dead body into an empty space in the construction site he had followed them to when they had left Ezio's home base. He observed the pouring of the concrete, filling the hole up and making Cesare Borgia disappear without a trace. As the top of the wet concrete was smoothed, Kadar went deeper into the shadows. He had to report to his brother that Boss Borgia's only son and successor was now dead.

Master Altaïr was not going to be pleased at the news.

000/000

Beneath the busy streets of the city, a group of hooded men gathered. Behind the head of the table hung a bright, white banner. A stylized red cross gleamed out from the middle of the banner.

The Illustrious Order of the Red Cross lived on.

000/000

Round and round, Sirius Black nervously twisted the gold ring resting upon his right ring-finger. In the middle of the ring rested a large onyx with golden symbol embedded into the stone.

The Square and Compasses and a large letter 'G' in the middle of the symbol marked the disowned Black scion as a Freemason.

000/000

With a groan of despair, Malik waved his younger brother off. He sat slumped behind his desk as Kadar slunk off. He knew, oh how he knew, that Altaïr was going to be livid. The slightly younger man had wanted to be the one to kill off Cesare Borgia. Ever since the old master's betrayal, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad had been on a rampage to kill off any who had been associated Al Mualim's scheme to overthrow all of New York's underworld, especially the Borgia family. The other nine conspirators, especially Robert de Sable, had died by Altaïr's hands, or rather his guns and blades.

However at the same time the older Syrian had a bad feeling about the whole business. No one really knew the reason why Al Mualim wanted to turn everything upside down other than the urge for power. But Malik knew it had to be more than that.

The question was this: what was the old man after before he died and what did the Borgia ultimately had to do with it as well as the Auditore massacre that had given rise to Ezio Auditore's own killing spree?

How was everything connected?

000/000

Harry smiled tightly as a butler opened the door and greeted him. "Hello," he said softly. "Is Sirius Black home?"

"If I may ask, who are you, sir?" the old man asked, raising his bushy eyebrows in question.

"I'm Harry Potter, his godson and cousin."

"Oh! My apologies, sir! Please come in. This way, sir. Shall I take your bag for you, sir?"

Nervously, Harry clutched the strap that was flung over his shoulder. "No, it's fine," he mumbled.

The butler smiled and stopped in front of a pair of dark oak doors. "One moment, please, while I announce you." He bowed and entered what appeared to be a library. "Master Black, Mr. Harry Potter has arrived. Shall I send him in?"

"Of course!" Shouted a familiar voice. Harry was startled when the doors were flung wide open to reveal Sirius's barely aged face. "Harry!" he cried. He tugged the former soldier inside of the library. "You may go, Thornton, thank you."

"Very good, sir. Shall I bring tea?"

"Yes, yes." Sirius shooed the butler out and closed the door. He turned around, his gray eyes bright and happy. "Oh Harry, it is good to see you! Drop your bag and give old Cousin Padfoot a hug?" He held his arms open wide.

Harry let out a breathless laugh, dropped his bag, and flung his shorter frame against his godfather's broad chest. As he clung to him, the younger brunet began to cry and tremble. Sirius cooed softly and held his godson tight.

Without his mother and father, Sirius Black was his only refuge in the storm of old memories and the screams of dying soldiers echoing in his head.

000/000

Night fell across the city and the lights flared on to brighten the streets. The newest musical began on Broadway. Rumrunners delivered their goods in the darkened back alleys. In the hidden bars known as 'speakeasies, people gathered to indulge in socializing and alcohol.

In one such speakeasy, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad scowled down at a plate of overcooked beignets from his black leather chair. Behind him, on either side, stood two men in white suites with black pinstripes to offset his own black suit with white pinstripes. The mafia boss' golden eyes narrowed dangerously at the trembling cook who stood before him with his hat crumbled up in his shaky hands. "You baked these?" he demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

"Y-y-yes, Boss Ibn-La-Ahad..." the cook stuttered.

Carefully Altaïr picked one up with his thumb and pointer finger. He twisted his hand to examine it with a deepening scowl. "These are horrendous," he hissed, observing the way the cowering cook flinched. He dropped it back onto the plate with a snarl. "Get out!"

The cook squealed and was escorted out by the two thugs standing on either side of the door that led out of the room into the kitchen. From there he would be dumped out the door that led into the alley, lucky to still be breathing.

"Emir," Altaïr called softly. "Get rid of these... things." The white-suited man on the boss' right bowed his head and took away the plate of offending beignets, handing them off to a discrete toady to be thrown away. Then a door to his left opened and in stepped Malik, his second-in-command. "Malik, what brings you here?"

"Other than the spectacle of you throwing out yet another cook who can't bake worth shit?" Malik asked sardonically. "I have news that is best heard privately." His black eyes pointedly looked at Emir and his partner, Assad. The two men in white were dismissed with a wave of Altaïr's hand, the other two by the door following. "Good thing you're sitting," the older man muttered darkly.

"What is the news, Malik?"

Malik sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "You're not going to be happy," he said.

Raising his eyebrows, Altaïr snorted. "Whenever you come here during the evening, it is never good news, my friend," he replied. "So out with it."

"Cesare Borgia is dead by Auditore hands."

000/000

Emir and Assad glanced at each other when they heard a bellow of rage echo out from behind the door they were guarding.

"Not our business," Assad said quietly.

"Not yet anyway," Emir replied just as softly.

000/000

**TBC**

Oh lord, Ryder, this thing has gone and run away into beginning epic status... erk. It's got gangsters, Templars, Freemasons, and craziness going on. Hope you like what I have so far. Next chapter should show up some time soon once my beta lets go of it. Much love and fun! XD


	2. Baking for Idiots

**Soul Biscuits**

_Disclaimer_: I don't own these fandoms, never will. Poo...

_**Warnings**__: SLASH! Threesomes, violence, blood, gore, 1920s gangsters, secret societies, baked goods; the works, man, the works..._

_Dedicated to Ryder Bellamiren and her sis Mooshy-chan! Hey, loves! Sorry it took forever, job-hunting and schoolwork is the weakness of my writing. Hope you enjoy! _8D

000/000

**PART TWO**: _Baking For Idiots_

000/000

Almond biscuits, yes.

Almond biscuits with buttercream frosting?

Harry grimaced and crossed off the frosting part for that particular biscuit. The buttercream would go better with the soft sugar biscuits with sprinkles.

And as Harry experimented with his list of possible baked goods, Sirius was tiptoeing down to the basement. He glanced around nervously when he arrived at the far side of the spacious, empty space. The gray-eyed man pushed in a series of seemingly random bricks. With a soft groan, a large section of the wall slid down to reveal a tunnel. Sirius tapped the top of his ring twice and a ball of light floated up from the Square and Compasses.

The light, an eerie green in color, led the way through the tunnel. The entrance closed itself.

000/000

Maria Thorpe dodged the knife thrown her way by her superior, who she only knew as The Bull. The bear-like man towered over her cowering form. "Please, I did not know that the Chosen would come here!" Maria wailed. "I only followed him as you commanded!" The formerly proud woman cowered upon the concrete floor of The Bull's hideout, her trembling hands shielding her plain face.

The Bull snarled at her. "FOOL! HE WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO LEAVE HIS COUNTRY!" he roared angrily. He delivered a fierce backhand to Maria's face, her own hands swept away like paper in the wind. The Bull sneered as she started to sob prone on the floor. He reached down with a hard, meaty hand to haul her up to his face by the front of her dress. "You listen to me, woman," he snapped as he shook her. "And listen well! The Chosen must not connect with It! You stick to him like glue! And you report to me directly. Use every measure to make sure that the Chosen does not stray again. I would command you to seduce him but you are not woman enough for such a thing." The bald behemoth flung her back onto the ground. "Now leave!"

Crawling a little bit away, Maria staggered halfway up to her feet. Nearly hunched in half, she ran/scuttled out of the room. Her face throbbed frantically in time with her rapidly beating heart.

"Useless bitch..." Moloch 'The Bull' Huddin muttered darkly.

"Really, Father, beating her will not help our cause," Shahar Huddin said as he stepped out of the shadows. "Such violence should not be present if we are to achieve our Perfection."

"Ha! She had it coming, the whore," Shalim Huddin, Shahar's identical twin, said in defense of their father's actions as he too stepped into the light. "Though I would not mind having a taste of her..."

"Enough, both of you!" Moloch scolded his sons. "Go to Bouchert; tell him Maria has failed us in the prevention of the Chosen's departure from his home. But she still has her uses for her ability to observe him without being caught and thus is still of some value though not much."

The brothers Huddin bowed and sauntered off to do as their father order.

000/000

"_It's coming to a head..."_

"_And all shall fall and be dead..."_

"_The world will burn..."_

"_The sun will darken..."_

"_Hark! Fear not..."_

"_The Chosen is coming..."_

The Dark Oracle giggled to herself in her padded room as she rocked back and forth in the corner. Her eyes rolled around in their sockets like an overwrought horse. "He's coming!" she sang. "He's coming! He's coming! Lalalalalala! Teehehehe..."

000/000

A biscuit cutter fell from Harry's fingers. The ex-soldier fell to his knees, his hands pressed hard against his temples as a headache of epic proportions made itself known.

000/000

Those of the Red Cross were thrown into a panic as It started to vibrate upon its pedestal. They cried out as a light burst up from It. Then an image shimmered into view float above It. The image was of a woman in a ghostly white dress and a strange headpiece that held back her flowing dark hair. She pointed straight at the heavily cowled Armand Bouchert.

"The Path must be opened. The scales must be balanced." With another flash It and the ghost woman disappeared.

000/000

Altaïr's left hand reflexively squeezed around the jelly doughnut and his head jerked up. Grape jelly dripped down onto his white, pinstriped trousers. Emir winced at the thought of the stain that was going to occur. "Something is wrong..." the Syrian murmured. "But what?"

"Sir?" Assad queried.

"Assad, fetch Malik and Kadar." Altaïr said, absently swirling the purple mess on his trouser leg with his right pointer finger. "I feel... disturbed."

000/000

"Nicco," Ezio called softly as he entered his right-hand man's study.

"Maestro? Are you well?" Machiavelli stood up from behind his desk, his dark eyes taking in the sight of his boss' pale face and shaking hands.

"Aah... Do you remember when we were children? When we would play among the rooftops of Boston?"

"Ezio, I think you need to sit down, my friend," Niccolò said softly, leading the unresisting, taller Italian into the seat in front of his desk.

"The ravens, Nicco. Do you remember them? Do you remember the one that spoke to me that day?"

"It was just a trained bird, Ezio."

"Do you remember what it said? Nicco, stop coddling me and answer!" Though he was still pale and his hands still trembled, a bit of fire reentered Ezio's golden eyes.

"Yes, I remember," Niccolò replied with a tired tone of voice.

"For this is the Book of the Dead," Ezio recited quietly in Arabic, "the book of the Black Earth..."

"STOP!" Niccolò cried out. "Are you trying to kill us all?"

"Something is coming, Nicco," the golden-eyed brunet said, ignoring his friend's and right-hand man's outburst. "My copy of the Book... it started flipping open and then banged shut."

Exhaling harshly through his nose, the slightly older man rubbed his forehead. "I think... we need to contact Her," he replied to the disturbing news.

000/000

"Brother Black, welcome back."

Sirius bowed his head to the First District Superior. "It's been awhile, hasn't it Michael?" he said quietly in return. "I have news."

"Oh?" The white-robed figure stood up and pulled back his hood to eye the former Brit. "What news is this?" he questioned in his chocolate smooth voice. His sharp, electric blue eyes narrowed as the silence grew. A strand of his golden hair fell across his forehead as he moved forward. "Sirius Black, you will tell me."

"He's here."

Superior Michael paused and slowly pressed his left hand on his solid oak desk. He blinked. "Truly?" he asked. "He actually took up your offer?" He reached up with his right hand to sweep back the lock of gold that had fallen in a nervous gesture. "I did not think he would... come."

Shrugging sheepishly, Sirius gave the taller man a slight and uncomfortable grin. "I didn't either," he replied. "Shall I tell the other six Superiors?"

"Aaah... best not to approach Uriel or Raguel, they still want your head served to them on a silver platter from last time." Michael snorted. "I will tell them myself. Inform Raphael and Gabriel since they are the closest from here then go home. Rafe and Gabe will spread the word to Chamuel and Jophiel; tell them I said to do so. Keep an eye on Him. We Freemasons must not let him out of our sight, understand?"

"As you wish. I'd best get going then."

"Yes, thank you and good luck. Try not to piss our Brothers off."

"No promises!" Sirius sang as he pranced out of the underground office.

000/000

Harry dry-heaved over the open toilet as Thornton fluttered nervously in the doorway of the downstairs guest bathroom. The ex-soldier coughed a bit more and groaned. He swayed up to his feet, putting a bracing hand on the sink and looked over at the fretting butler. "Thornton, it's alright..." he rasped. "Just a headache, they're just really bad sometimes, is all. Ever since the war..."

"Oh sir, I completely understand!" the frazzled gentleman assured. "I shall fetch you some soothing tea!" he announced and he zipped off before Harry could protest.

"Lord grant me patience," Harry muttered as he washed his hands. He then leaned heavily over the sink and rinsed out his mouth after flushing the loo. Spitting out the water, the brunet shook his head and heaved a sigh. He closed his clouded green eyes and swore not to reach for the laudanum. He hated the way opiates made him feel. He had no desire to float off into nothingness. He opened his eyes, blinking them rapidly to clear them. Those poison colored irises stared back at him from the reflection of the mirror. They said that he had his mother's eyes but Harry always disagreed. Hers had been like shining emeralds, bright and crystalline. And though his were just as bright, the shade seemed to have a more sinister tone of green, sharper and stronger. But with laudanum in his system, they became like glass, like gems. Of course he was also as high as a kite in March. Harry's lips trembled and he turned away from his reflection. Just another reminder, he supposed, of what he was...

_Your fault she's dead! _

_You killed her!_

"Stop it!" he hissed under his breath. He stepped out of the loo and nearly had a tea tray shoved through his sternum. Harry reached out to steady it and the butler wielding said tray.

"AH!" Thornton cried out. The cup and saucer rattled while the tea inside the pot made soft sloshing sounds.

"Easy does it, Thornton," Harry soothed. "How about I take my tea in the informal parlour?"

"Ve... Very good, sir," the butler said, obviously fighting his embarrassment. "This way, sir."

"Thornton?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Thank you."

000/000

Several quiet days passed without too much incident, minus a few raids on several speakeasies. Though Harry never really paid attention to those, the fact that he couldn't purchase alcohol, not even for Rum Balls, which was totally ridiculous by the way, was severely grating and that meant no Coq au Vin either. Christ in a hand basket... The green-eyed man huffed and pocketed his new license for opening a bakery and ambled out of the office that took care of such matters. He already had a building in mind; it was one of the properties that his godfather had bought and transferred into his name.

A zing shot its way up his spin and Harry's stride stuttered before he forced himself to keep walking down the busy sidewalk. Aw fuck, there were those eyes again. He thought he had left them behind in London. With a scowl, he lengthened his stride, melting into the crowd.

Harry never noticed that he walked past one of his destined lovers in a dark blue, pinstriped suit who was headed in the opposite direction.

Ezio Auditore disappeared into the shadows.

000/000

"Another clash with the Auditores, brother, has cost us at least six men to death and three more to prison," Kadar reported. His blue eyes were averted from the sight of his angry older brother.

"Allah give us strength. Why is Auditore targeting us?" Rubbing his face, Malik sighed. "I know that we are rivals but still we were not the ones who painted the city red with Auditore blood; that was Borgias and the de'Pazzi gang."

"I know this, but with Boss Borgia in hiding and his daughter locked away in a madhouse, I am thinking that Maestro Auditore has no one else to focus his anger on. Though something is off..."

"Then tell me your hunches; all of Creation knows that I cannot stop you from expressing yourself."

Eyes the color of forget-me-nots rolled in response to the snark being aimed at him. "Auditore's men seemed spooked about something though. There are whispers of the Maestro being jumpy and peering into dark corners as though looking for ghosts."

Malik looked up from his accounting. "There are days when I wonder just how you managed to overhear such things without getting caught; and then there are other days when I have no desire to know any of your secrets." Sighing, he twisted a cap onto his fountain pen and set it down onto his desk. "Besides, our own Master is feeling uneasy, though he doesn't know what about. What else, Kadar? What else have you seen or heard?"

"Whispers of other things that aren't related to the Auditore problem..."

"What? That our Master's strange addiction to baked goods has finally leaked out?"

"Err, no, not that at least."

"Small miracles then, I shall thank Allah for them."

Kadar cracked a small smile when Malik gazed upward to the ceiling and raised his hands a little in mock benediction. "In all seriousness, there are whispers that the Red Cross has lost something of great value to them," he said, solemnity returning as he bit his lower lip. "They say that it is an object of incredible power."

"And so another hornet's nest has been stirred. I had thought that Altaïr had driven out their Order from the city." The older Al-Sayf lowered his hands to lay them flat on his desk.

"They are back then, if the rumors are to be believed."

"And considering you of all people know which rumors to bring to me to report; then yes, they are to be believed," Malik replied. "Damnation, there are days when I wish I did not get out of bed. Today is such a day. As if we don't have enough problems..."

"What happened?"

"Altaïr nearly killed another chef by way of ruined baked goods."

"Oh no..." Kadar moaned, slapping a palm over his face in horror.

"Oh yes. The poor man was choking on undercooked doughnuts and our Master was watching it happen after having finished shoving said goods down his throat."

"And of course Assad and Emir didn't move an inch."

"Of course not!" Malik snapped. "If I hadn't barged in and purged the doughnuts by sticking my fingers in his mouth to pull out the slobbery mess, he would have died!" He growled when his younger brother snorted out a laugh. "Oh you laugh, but you weren't the one who had to do it, pay him off, and clean up the entire mess."

"I am glad that I was not the one to do so, brother." Laughter danced in Kadar's blue eyes.

"Bah!" the older brother barked, waving his hand as if shooing a dog. "Get out of my office and go back to your whispers, Novice! I will speak with our pastry obsessed master about what you have told me."

"As you wish."

"And tell Hassun to fetch another cook!"

000/000

"Stop baking!" Sirius whined as he stuffed more biscuits into his mouth. "Immagetfat!"

"Don't speak with your mouth full," Harry scolded, not looking up from where he was making a white Swiss Roll cake. "And it would be your own fault if you get fat from eating all of my trials."

Swallowing his mouthful and chasing it with a gulp of milk, the older man pouted. "But they're so good..." he breathed out. He fluttered his eyes in ecstasy as he crammed a jelly thumbprint biscuit into his gob and moaned.

"Stop having sex with my cooking, Siri! It's creepy!" the ex-soldier snapped, finally glancing up. He popped the sheet pan into the oven.

"Oooh, are you going to fill it with jam and cream?" The older brunet perked up when his godson pulled out another mixing bowl.

"No, I was thinking of lemon curd instead... or perhaps orange? Hmmm..."

"Limes!" Sirius chirped excitedly. "Make lime curd to put in the Swiss Roll!"

Harry blinked. "Huh, good idea, Sirius." He dug around in the icebox for the lime juice.

Sirius preened in delight and, as a reward to himself, ate a peanut butter biscuit.

000/000

Maria was in a panic. She didn't know how to escape from the Order of the Red Cross. The broken brunette was stuck in a country not her own and following a man that the Order claimed was a bringer of disaster. She huddled in the shadows of the alley, looking up at her target's residence.

She prayed for a miracle.

000/000

"Has She replied yet?" Ezio asked as Niccolò entered the smoky room.

"No, not yet, Maestro." Niccolò gave his boss' lit cigar the evil eye. "Those things will be the death of you."

The younger Italian blew out a mouthful of smoke. "Then it is good I smoke them so rarely," he retorted. The handsome, golden-eyed man was slouched upon his leather chair, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle and his bottom at the edge of the seat. He absentmindedly rolled the cigar around with his thumb and forefinger. His eyelids were at half-mast, his eyelashes casting his irises into shadow. "What do you think She will say?" he wondered to his right-hand man.

"I know not, Maestro." Nicco said slowly. "For all I know, She could say that your love life is dead like Cesare Borgia."

Ezio snorted. "Isn't that the truth?" He shook his head. "Damn Caterina..."

"I think that it is women all together that is your problem," the older man said. "If you did not hop beds and go through women like wine, you wouldn't have such issues with your love life."

"Enough about my sadly lacking love life! What other news then brings you here?"

"Into your windowless brooding room? News about the Freemasons though it is only a little."

Ezio frowned. "Strange, they are usually a quiet lot..." he mused.

"They are making noise about a 'Chosen' and the Big Seven are stirring."

"Chosen? Like a Savior?"

"I don't know."

The Auditore Boss stubbed out his cigar into his tall, standing ashtray. He left it there and stood up. "What else?" he asked as he crossed the room to leave, Niccolò at his heels.

"Also, it seems that the Order of the Red Cross is in an uproar over a missing object."

"I thought Altaïr's Ḥashāshīn drove them out of the city?" Ezio said with a puzzled tone. The pair was quite the sight as they marched down the halls of their main hideout.

"Yes, well, even though we are fighting with them, it was Kadar himself who delivered the news to me personally." Niccolò scowled fiercely.

"Ah, Al-Sayf the younger is a bold one and the third most skilled of Ibn-La'Ahad's group, under his brother and Altaïr himself."

"I lost several years of my life from sheer fright when he popped out of my bathroom."

000/000

"So when are you going to open the bakery?" Sirius asked. He and his godson were lounging in the study, sharing some branding as a nightcap.

"A couple of weeks, maybe? I'm still thinking about it," Harry replied. He swirled his branding in its tumbler.

"Did you ever think you would become a baker when you were younger? Because I clearly recall you telling me you wanted to be an American Cowboy."

"Oh God, don't remind me."

Harry and Sirius chuckled and the fire in the hearth flickered.

000/000

**TBC**

AAAAHHH! Why did my beta take forever to get this back to me anyway? Add in the job-hunting, schooling, and apparently lots of issues with uploading and just GAH! Whatevs.

So anyway, it's a little choppy still and the plot, it thickens from being crepe batter to waffle batter, awesome. Hmmm, waffles. But yeah... And that Swiss Roll Harry is baking? It ain't Hostess' Hohos, oh no-no. XD Homemade Swiss Roll Cakes are fricking awesome!~ Recipe? Recipe! It's enough to make you jizz your pants. :DD

_ROLL:_

_3/4 c. all-purpose flour_

_1 tsp. baking powder_

_1/4 tsp. salt_

_3 eggs_

_3/4 c. granulated sugar_

_1/4 c. cold water_

_1 tsp. vanilla_

_Powdered sugar_

_LIME CURD:_

_3 eggs or 5 egg yolks_

_1 c. granulated sugar_

_1/4 c. butter_

_1/2 c. lime juice_

_1 tbsp. grated lime rind_

_Grease and line with waxed paper a 10 x 15 inch jelly roll pan. Mix together flour, baking powder and salt. Beat eggs 1 minute, add sugar gradually. Continue beating 4 minutes until mixture is thick and light colored. Add water and vanilla, stirring gently. Fold in dry ingredients. Spread batter in prepared pan. Bake at 375 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes or until top springs back when lightly touched. Immediately loosen edges, turn out of pan onto a tea towel sprinkled generously with icing sugar. Remove waxed paper. Trim crisp edges from cake. Beginning at narrow edge, roll cake loosely with towel. Cool on wire rack. Unroll cake, spread with lime curd. Re-roll, dust with icing sugar._

_TO MAKE LIME CURD: In top of double boiler, combine 5 ingredients. Cook stirring over simmering water until consistency of melted honey. Keep covered and refrigerated until ready to use._

_Makes 10 to 12 slices._

**PS**: To those of you whose reviews I did not reply to, thanks for reading! I love all reviewers! Except flamers, nobody likes flamers...


	3. Apple Pie

**Soul Biscuits**

_Disclaimer_: I don't own these fandoms, never will. Poo...

_**Warnings**__: SLASH! Threesomes, violence, blood, gore, 1920s gangsters, secret societies, baked goods; the works, man, the works..._

_Dedicated to Ryder Bellamiren and her sis Mooshy-chan! They are my muses for this fic, yay!~_

000/000

PART THREE: Apple Pie

000/000

Dawn. It was the rising of the sun that signified beginnings. The reds, pinks, and purples that colored the morning sky had always fascinated people. And Harry was always willing to watch the sun and those first streaks of light and color bursting across the sky. He stood now upon the roof of his new home that he shared with Sirius with a cup of coffee cradled in his hand. The steam rose up from the hot liquid into the cool spring air. His poison green eyes were hooded and peeked out from beneath his sooty eyelashes. He took a sip of his beverage and sighed. A slow smile spread across his face as the sun finished its ascent from the horizon.

Bird song mixed with the sounds of early morning traffic. The murmurings of people pouring back out into the streets for their work filled the air. Shouts of paperboys trying to sell their papers overpowered other sounds at random intervals. Car engines and tramping feet upon pavement join in the noisy, chaotic symphony of another typical New York morning.

Harry drained the last of his coffee and wandered back into the house from the roof access. And tomorrow before the dawn, he would finally start baking and open his shop.

000/000

That same morning, the Seven Superiors of the Freemasons gathered. Michael, who was the eldest of the seven, raised his hands to signal for silence from his lowly chattering brothers. It was through the actions of Gabriel though, by elbowing Jophiel, that the silence was complete. He looked at them with his sharp blue eyes as they too stood up from their seats around their meeting table.

"Brothers, greetings!" Michael cheerfully said. He waited a moment for the returned salutations to die down. "We have gathered together this morning to discussion the greatest issue of our age."

"Obviously," Gabriel snarked, ducking under Uriel's swinging fist that had been aimed at the back of his head. "Watch it, Uriel!"

"Umm, shouldn't you let Michael continue?" Chamuel interrupted, his fingers tangling together nervously when his six Brothers swung their gazes toward him. "Eh?"

"Enough," Raphael said. "Let Michael continue."

Michael rolled his eyes and begged God for the strength to handle his brothers' bickering. "Rafe is right, let me continue!" He ignored the muttered apologies. "Anyway, I have grave news-"

"Is it the Chosen? Oh my gosh, something happened to him, didn't it?" Jophiel interrupted. "Oh no, I knew we shouldn't have let Brother Black house him!"

"Stop panicking! Jesus tap-dancing Christ!" Gabriel made Jophiel's panic attack come to a screeching halt as the youngest of all seven started to sputter.

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ? How did you come up with that one?" Raphael said, raising a golden eyebrow.

"I can't believe that you would take the Lord's name in vain in such a horrible manner!" Uriel snarled. He and Gabriel then proceeded to get into a slap-fight. Jophiel flailed around in his seat, still in a panic though silent. Raphael scowled at the two fighting Superiors. Raguel, who hadn't spoken at all, was filing his nails.

"This is going to take a while..." Michael muttered, pressing the heel of his right palm against his forehead. Chamuel just watched the mayhem with wide blue eyes.

000/000

"I hear that there is a new bakery opening on the morrow," Kadar murmured to his friend Hazzan. Hazzan, who had had his tongue craved out by a Borgia several years ago, just grunted. "I wonder when our Master will call upon him..." The blue-eyed Ḥashāshīn grinned when the tall mute rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. I fear for this new baker's life as well. The Master is growing tetchier and tetchier with each failed chef. Ever since Mussanad died in his mistress' bed, Master Altaïr has been an insufferable bear." Hazzan snorted and pointed at the door just as a voice screamed for the younger Al-Sayf.

"KADAR!" Malik's voice screeched.

"Bugger," Kadar sighed. "He's in a mood." He shook his head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hazzan waved the Al-Sayf out.

000/000

Harry examined the light green apple in his hand with a critical eye. He held it up to the sunlight, looking for possibly bruising. The grocer kept an eye on the young man while serving an old woman. The ex-soldier lowered the apple, gently cradling it in his nimble fingers.

"Can I help you, sir?" the grocer asked after the old woman toddled off. He tried not to be startled when Harry's bright green gaze pinned him to the spot.

"I need a barrel's worth of your best Granny Smiths," Harry said, still clutching the apple in his hand.

"A barrel?" the grocer replied in astonishment. "Whatever for, sir?"

"Pies," was the answer. "I need them delivered to my bakery this afternoon."

"Aah." The mustached grocer nodded. "I understand, sir. And how about some fresh raspberries and strawberries? I just got in several bushels today."

"Oh?" Harry put the apple back on the stand. "That would be good; a bushel of each delivered tomorrow at dawn if that is acceptable?"

The grocer, who lit up like a Christmas tree at the opportunity, nodded with the enthusiasm of a young boy in a candy store. "Yes, of course! My sons will ensure that you receive them at dawn. And the apples this afternoon. Would four o'clock be acceptable?"

"Yes, brilliant. How much all together?" Harry nodded when the grocer, who introduced himself as Miguel, rattled off a number for the sum of the ex-soldier's purchase. Pulling out his wallet, the younger man quickly paid the amount. He thanked Miguel and hurried off another store, a general store that would have the flour and sugar and spices that Harry would need.

000/000

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A rat scuttled along the sewer, its tiny black nose twitching.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A cockroach waved its antennae as it paused.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Then rush of running water replaced the sound of dripping.

And there in the wide-mouthed pipe that poured out into the Hudson River, a brief flash of gold light winked for a brief moment into existence in the late morning light. But just a quickly, it vanished but in its wake a strange golden sphere plopped into the dirty water. The sphere, with its strange engraved lines and muted color, rolled out of the pipe and into the river. The flowing water burbled and the sphere sunk into the depths. It slowly began to roll along the river bottom, never sinking into the muck and mud. It rolled past a dead man with concrete shoes. It rolled past garbage and the few fish hardy enough to survive in the fetid H2O.

The sphere was on a journey and nothing would stop it.

000/000

"Da-da-da-da!" Sirius danced around the informal parlor, strumming a guitar and singing... badly. Thornton peered into the room, rolled his eyes, and left quickly. There were days when he questioned his employer's sanity but he said not a word to indicate his doubt. "Bah-la-la-da!" The freemason sang. It was too bad his voice did not match his excellent playing. And it was to this scene that Harry came home to during lunch.

"Ummm..." Harry, thoroughly startled and horrified, escaped from his oblivious godfather. "Thornton! Thornton!" he called.

The butler peeked out from another of the receiving rooms and then stepped into the hallway. "Sir, is something the matter?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry replied.

The two stared at one another for a moment. "Sir?" Thornton raised his bushy white eyebrows.

"Is Sirius possessed?" the ex-soldier asked in all seriousness. "Or just mad?"

"I'm afraid, sir, that I do not know."

"Oh."

"Indeed. Lunch, sir?"

"God, yes! Anything to get away from... from that."

000/000

Ezio Auditore scowled at the missive in his hand. His eagle gold eyes narrowed into enraged slits upon his handsome face. The boy who had delivered the message scurried away, escaping the possibility of having the rage directed at him. The letter crinkled a little when the Maestro's hands twitched. Letting out a breath, Ezio folded the paper and slipped it into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. He turned sharply on his heel and stalked off toward one of his speakeasies.

He needed a drink and to brood about the news that had been delivered to him.

000/000

"Cosmos Heaven has been raided!" Mussid Mosse proclaimed. He slammed a fist against the tabletop in one of the meeting rooms of the Ḥashāshīn's main hideout. "This is the third one this month, Grand Master!"

Altaïr leaned back in his chair at the head of the table. "I know this already, Mosse," he said coolly. He twirled around knife in his right hand. "We have a mole." He flicked his gaze toward Malik.

Malik sighed and stood. "Aye and we've found him. He's already ratted out Juliet Club as of today. There will be a raid tonight. But the coppers won't find anything." The second-in-command snorted. "We've already evacuated all of the alcohol on the premises." His sharp black gaze pinned Mosse on the spot. "So stop screeching like an irritated fishwife."

Mosse sputtered then sat back down at a sharp gesture from the Master. Altaïr stood up with an easy grace. "We're done here. Take care of our rat problem tonight, Malik" the head of the Ḥashāshīns drawled. "Assad, Emir." The two bodyguards emerged from the shadows to stand by the door. "Malik, Kadar, stay. The rest of you are dismissed." The six other men, Mosse included, exited quietly. Assad closed the door behind him, enveloping the meeting room in silence. "Now then, report to me."

The Al-Sayf brothers, now standing, glanced at one another then back at Altaïr. "The Dark Oracle has started talking again," Kadar started off. "She screams of a Chosen and the world ending." He shifted uncomfortably. "Combine this with the Order of the Red Cross in a tizzy over a missing object, the Superiors of the Freemasons poking their heads out of their hiding places, and the Auditore Maestro's senses going haywire..."

"We have a situation beyond just our speakeasies being raided," Altaïr concluded. He slammed his knife into the wood of the table point down. "Auditore is not the only one whose senses are going mad."

"Hence your disturbed feeling," Malik interjected softly.

"I need to meet with Auditore," the Master said.

"Master?" Kadar questioned with raised eyebrows.

"It's time we had a truce. Something is wrong in our city. The Borgia were connected with the Order of the Red Cross as were the de'Pazzi."

"A common enemy," Malik said.

Nodding, Altaïr dug a cigarette out of his pocket, popping the filter-end into his mouth. He lit his cancer-stick, took a puff, and blew out the smoke. "We need to stop fighting each other. I know they been hearing whispers of these events as well. I wonder..."

"Wonder what?" the Ḥashāshīn second-in-command asked.

"I wonder why the Order came back at all..."

000/000

From atop the highest building of the city, falcons launched themselves into the air. The din of the city could not reach that far up yet. Strong winds howled and tugged at the clothes of the man standing upon the roof. His golden eyes were wide with dark bags underneath.

"It's here," the man said. His words were carried away into the wind.

The man didn't have a name. He didn't have any acknowledged family. He was only known by a single number.

16.

000/000

Below, in the streets, another man with golden eyes rolled over on his cot in the cell that the Order had tossed him into the previous night. His breathing was harsh. He had wrapped his arms around his ribs in an attempt to assuage the pain of his fractured ribs. "Sonvabitch," he wheezed.

"Now, there's no need for such language, Mr. Miles," came a voice from beyond the bars.

"Go fuck yourself, Vidic!" Desmond Miles rolled over again to glare at his captor. His thin, scarred lips were curled in a snarl.

The white-coated scientist just smiled at him. "Do try to behave, Mr. Miles, and maybe we'll let your ribs heal..." As he turned away, a red cross that adorned the back of his coat flashed in a flutter of cloth.

000/000

Harry poked the puff pastry dough and squinted a critical eye at it. Nodding to himself, he carefully wrapped it in parchment paper. He placed the dough into Refrigerator One for tomorrow's predawn baking spree. That completed all the prep work that could be done that evening. The ex-soldier smiled and started to hum to himself. He was so looking forward to his opening day.

"The Sweet Retreat..." Harry murmured to himself in a pleased tone. Yes, it sounded a little silly. But the young veteran was indulging himself. After all, wasn't that what sweets were about? Indulgence? His dream was coming to fruition and he was finally feeling content.

Too bad that feeling would not last. Life was about to get complicated once again.

000/000

**TBC**

Whew, writer's block was a BITCH! Sorry it took so long and that it's shorter than the previous two parts. :( So to make up for it, here's a recipe that I tried out from all ! It's so good too!

ENGLISH TRIFLE

Ingredients

2 (8 or 9 inch) white cake layers, baked and cooled

2 pints fresh strawberries

1/4 cup white sugar

1 pint fresh blueberries

2 bananas

1/4 cup orange juice

1 (3.5 ounce) package instant vanilla pudding mix

2 cups milk

1 cup heavy whipping cream

1/4 cup blanched slivered almonds

12 maraschino cherries

Directions

Slice the strawberries and sprinkle them with sugar. Cut the bananas into slices and toss with orange juice. Combine pudding mix with milk and mix until smooth. Cut the cake into 1 inch cubes.

Use half of the cake cubes to line the bottom of a large glass bowl. Layer half of the strawberries followed by half of the blueberries, and then half of the bananas. Spread half of the pudding over the fruit. Repeat layers in the same order.

In a medium bowl, whip the cream to stiff peaks and spread over top of trifle. Garnish with maraschino cherries and slivered almonds.


	4. Interludes and Characters

**Soul Biscuits**

_Disclaimer_: I don't own these fandoms, never will. Poo...

_**Warnings**__: SLASH! Threesomes, violence, blood, gore, 1920s gangsters, secret societies, baked goods; the works, man, the works..._

_Dedicated to Ryder Bellamiren and her sis Mooshy-chan! They are my muses for this fic, yay!~_

000/000

INTERLUDE 1

000/000

The rivers had reversed, the ocean currents changed course, and the world shifted after the Toba Catastrophe. Now they could only watch, trapped behind great barriers, stuck between time and space...

"Our progenies have gathered," Minerva said quietly to her sister.

Juno ran a cold eye over the images her sister had brought forth in the viewing pool. "They are our failures, no progeny of mine," she replied nastily.

"Enough," Jupiter snapped. "That is enough, Juno, Minerva."

"Of course." Minerva bowed.

"As you wish." Juno reluctantly calmed herself.

Jupiter sighed softly. "It does not matter if you wish to claim them or not, they are ours." He stroked his white beard. "So much time has passed and still we are stuck here. They are the keys to our release."

Juno turned her head away. "But... then we will be born once more..."

Minerva let out a contemplative hum. "But then... we would be free..."

000/000

INTERLUDE 2

000/000

"Hellooo? Hello?" Lily Potter, mother of Harry and wife of James, wandered a foggy gray place that she did not recognize. Her vivid emerald green gaze darted around. She tried to see anything that would distinguish itself from the monotonous landscape. She sighed.

"Where am I?"

000/000

INTERLUDE 3

000/000

Surely there was more to life than this?

Leonardo Da Vinci pouted, poking at his half-finished painting with a clean paintbrush. "Ugh... he is ugly," he muttered, knowing that the subject of his painting wasn't present in his studio. "I know! I can finish this later!"

"Master Leonardo!" Salai, his assistant, shrieked when he saw the multi-talented but lazy man try to sneak away. "Where do you think you are going?"

"Come now, Salai, do not be silly!" Leonardo laughed nervously. "Why, I am only going for a walk. I seek more inspiration for our patron's portrait!"

The young assistant pursed his lips. "You are running away from finishing your painting again!"

"Me? That's... that's ridiculous! Besides, I am hungry and I hear there is a new bakery..."

"Then I shall fetch you a pastry while you finish the painting!"

"No, no, that's okay. A nice, brisk morning walk and a warm cookie will get my creative juices flowing~!" Leonardo ran out of the door of his studio.

"Not again..." Salai moaned.

000/000

END of INTERLUDES

000/000

**AN**: Haaa... Hey guys! *crickets chirping* Soooo, what's doing? *more crickets*

Cough...

Anyway, these little interludes decided to show up while I was writing the next part of Soul Biscuits and I figured that I could post them since it had been so long since I had updated this fic. Writer's Block and I are still beating each other with sticks in combat for supremacy, so Part Four is still in limbo. So I've decided to hint at some more plot for your enjoyment as well as introduce some silliness by way of Leonardo's own struggle with... erm Painter's Block. Yeah. And we got to see some more characters, yay!

OH! Also, I wanted to introduce a list of our characters so far but without just posting it as pure Author's Notes since that is frowned upon on FF . net. It's far longer than the interludes though. Err, oops.

000/000

_**CHARACTER SHEET**_

_**SOUL BISCUITS**_

_1924_

_**MAIN**_**:**

**Harry Potter:**

-former British World War One veteran

-baking prodigy: learned from his mother and the Evans family recipes

-opened a bakery called The Sweet Retreat

-is connected with the Order's valued object of power

**Ezio Auditore:**

-Head of the Auditore Family following the murder of his father, uncle, and brothers by the Borgia

-has an innate sense of foreboding

-owns an old copy of the Necronomicon, written by Abdul Alhazred (aka, the Mad Arab)

-currently at odds with Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and his Hashāshīn

**Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad:**

-Leader of the Hashāshīn following the treason and subsequent murder of Al Mualim (former leader)

-shares Ezio's sense of foreboding

-obsessed with baked goods, especially donuts of any kind; loves beignets

-constantly searching for the perfect baker

_**SUPPORTING:**_

_Hashāshīn_

**Malik Al-Sayf**

-Kadar's older brother

-Altaïr's second-in-command (SiC)/ right-hand man

-is a worrywart and constantly saves the chefs who fail his leader's expectations

**Kadar Al-Sayf**

-Malik's younger brother

-Altaïr's spymaster/intelligence officer/rumor-monger

-likes to mess with Niccolò

**Emir & Assad **

-identical twins

- Altaïr's personal bodyguards and his main enforcers

-ranks between Malik and Kadar in chain of command

_Auditore_

**Niccolò Machiavelli**

-nearly became a philosopher at an university before being pulled into Auditore Family politics

-Ezio's SiC

-was also Ezio's childhood friend

_Freemasons_

**Sirius Orion Black**

-Harry's godfather who offered him a place in New York after the war

-reports directly to the First District Superior

**Michael **-First District Superior and the eldest

-_note: all of the Superiors are identical in coloring and height_

**Gabriel** –Second District Superior (DS)

**Raphael** -Third DS

**Uriel** –Fourth DS

**Raguel** –Fifth DS

**Chamuel** –Sixth DS

**Jophiel** –Seventh DS

_The Illustrious Order of the Red Cross (aka Templars)_

**Armand Bouchert **–leader of the Templars after the murders of Robert de Sable and Al Mualim

**Moloch "The Bull" Huddin** –Bouchert's SiC

**Warren Vidic** –Bouchert's Third in Command

**Shahar & Shalim Huddin** –identical twin sons of "The Bull"

**Maria Thorpe** –enslaved spy

_MISC_

**Dark Oracle** –prophetess tinged with madness

**Mr. Thornton** –Sirius' butler

**16** –mysterious arrival

**Desmond Miles** –Vidic's prisoner


	5. When Harry Met Leo, an interlude

**Soul Biscuits**

_Disclaimer_: I don't own these fandoms, never will. Poo...

_**Warnings**__: SLASH! Threesomes, violence, blood, gore, 1920s gangsters, secret societies, baked goods; the works, man, the works..._

_Dedicated to Ryder Bellamiren and her sis Mooshy-chan! They are my muses for this fic, yay!~_

000/000

Interlude 2: When Harry Met Leo

000/000

The scent of cinnamon wafted into a young artist's nose. Like a blood hound, he tracked the smell into a new bakery called The Sweet Retreat. The name of the bakery was arched in cheerful purple letters on the tinted glass front. A chime above the door jingled as the glass entrance was opened by slim, talented hands.

"Oh my goodness!" Leonardo Da Vinci cried out in delight upon entering the bakery. To his right was a long, long glass case showing numerous baked goods and at the end was a cash register and counter space. Behind the glass case was a three-burner stovetop that had three vacuum coffee brewers working. There was a door that must lead to where the proprietor made his goods. To Leonardo's left were several booths the led down to an open floor space at the back of the bakery where tables and chairs were arranged. Along the walls were numerous landscapes, replications of the real things according to Leo's trained eye. And the back wall was a line of receptacles for the coffee mugs and dishes and trash. Plus there was a table by the receptacles that held napkins, forks, knifes, and spoons. Already there were several people sitting down in booths or tables with cups of coffee and donuts and other baked goods. Leonardo jumped when a dark curly-haired young man popped out of the door behind the glass case with a beautiful strawberry cheesecake that he placed within the case by the other cakes.

"Good morning, sir!" the young man said cheerfully, his posh British accent obvious.

"Good morning to you as well!" Leonardo replied. He watched as the brunet closed the cake portion of the case closed. "I just heard that you opened."

"Quite right, sir. This is the grand opening and I opened at seven o'clock this morning. My name is Harry! How might I serve you today?"

"It's nice to meet you! I am Leonardo." He pointed at one of the goods on display. "A raspberry scone sounds delicious actually."

Harry smiled and opened that section of the case. He used a piece of wax paper to grab the scone. "Anything else? Perhaps some coffee or tea? Juice?" he asked as he turned around to reach for a plate by the coffee brewers.

"Tea, my friend, no sugar or cream."

"Earl Grey good?"

"Yes, yes!" Leonardo clapped in delight as he sauntered down to the register. He watched with eager crystal blue eyes as Harry approached from his side of the case with the scone and a mug of steaming tea. "How much in total?" He got his wallet out and paid the amount recited by the baker. "Thank you, dear Harry."

"You're welcome," Harry replied in amusement. He watched as Leonardo practically waltzed to an empty booth.

Today was looking good...

000/000

**End Interlude**

Dammit... Come back, plot!


End file.
